


Balthazar, Doctor of Strangelove: or, How the Kings Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Their Life

by cosmic_medusa



Series: We Three Kings [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: An accident at the garage forces Sam and Cas to confront their insecurities about a world without Dean.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: We Three Kings [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306616
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

It truly spoke volumes about Cas’ life that, when he answered his phone and heard nothing but swearing, he still wasn’t sure who was calling. He could think of five people off the bat who’d called barking curses at him—and that was when they were sober.  
  
“This is Cas,” he repeated. More yelling. And then:  
  
“It’s me, dumbass!”  
  
Me, being Dean. His so-called life partner. Who’d obviously won him through his sweet, demure, gentlemanly-adoring behavior.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“A shithead hillbilly backed up into my leg and crushed it to hell. _That’s_ what’s wrong.”  
  
Cas’ stomach dropped. “Where are you?”  
  
“In the back of the dumbass redneck’s van getting driven at about a hundred-miles an hour to the ER.”  
  
“My ER?”  
  
“What the hell other is there?” Dean barked. There was muffled swearing, and then another voice came through.  
  
“Cas, it’s Jake Talley, from the garage. He’s alright.” More shouting. “I mean... _he’s_ sure he’s gonna die, but he won’t, really. Though the leg’s not looking so hot.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Dean barked something else and Jake sighed. “I’ll let him tell you that.”  
  
“What happened is that the sonofabitch ran my leg over!” Dean shouted into the phone.  
  
“Alright, Dean—don’t worry. I’ll alert Anna. We’ll have a team at the door to meet you.”  
  
“You get your ass there too,” he snapped. Cas had known him long enough to understand the need underlying his harsh tone. “And tell them they’re not sawing the damn thing off.”  
  
“Of course. We won’t let that happen.”  
  
“My insurance card is back at the garage, with my wallet and shit.”  
  
“Don’t worry. You’re good here.”  
  
“This seriously sucks, man! Don’t do your little bedside manner crap!”  
  
More swearing and the phone faded out. “Hey, Cas,” Jake said, “I’m gonna sign off, okay? We should be there in ten or so.”  
  
“Thanks Jake, we’ll be ready,” Cas said, already running down the hall to Anna’s office.  
  
As soon as the connection disconnected he slammed through the door to her office, past her protesting assistant, and burst in on her and someone official-looking.  
  
“Doctor?” she asked.  
  
“Dean’s been hurt. Seriously. He’s on his way to the ER.”  
  
“Who is this?” the man said slowly, rising to his feet.  
  
“This is Doctor Cas Morgan.” She reached for the phone. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Uriel. This will have to be continued later.”  
  
“I am one of the primary underwriters of this hospital.”  
  
“And I’m the Chief of Staff, ensuring that your kind and generous donations go directly toward the treatment and care of patients, one of whom is enroute and needs my immediate attention.”  
  
“If it weren’t for me, that ER wouldn’t have a name.”  
  
“Because of you, this person will receive top-notch care.” She spoke quickly into the phone, ordering a team assembled, all with the same relaxed, cool confidence he’d always admired. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”  
  
“I’ll have you thrown out of this state.”  
  
“Please try,” she passed him and fell into easy, quick step behind Cas. With her white jacket, blue scrubs, and hair pulled back in a bun, she looked much older, and more severe, than she had when she’d visited their house for the Superbowl. But she had the same sharp mind and confident kindness he’d always fallen for. “I hate that guy,” she admitted, when they were safely out of earshot.  
  
“Who is he?” Cas asked as they waited for an elevator.  
  
“Secretary of the Board. Gunning for President. Where he’s from, a very, very big deal, with deep pockets. Fine. But that doesn’t make you a doctor. And if you’re not a doctor, then don’t sit there and tell me how to treat the ill.” The elevator announced its arrival, and two of their colleagues passed them, nodding. Anna hit the button to the first floor. “Dean. What happened?”  
  
“He said his leg was hurt. Possibly run over. I couldn’t quite get the full story, but he doesn’t want to lose it.”  
  
“I’ll evaluate it myself,” she said, eyes on the floors as they descended. “I’ll ensure he’s admitted regardless of insurance, since I imagine his card is elsewhere.”  
  
Cas felt sudden goosebumps on his arms. For the life of him, he’d never understand how she knew what she did. “I don’t know how bad it is, but...he would not do well with the loss of a limb.”  
  
“Like I said, I’ll evaluate. His life is more important than his leg, Cas. I won’t let him lose that.” She laid a warm hand on his shoulder.   
  
Cas heard Dean before he saw him: he was roaring curses at the two orderlies who were ushering in his stretcher. Jake had one hand pinning him down while Bobby Singer took the rear, looking shaken and slightly sick.  
  
“C’mon and take it easy man, we’re here,” Jake said.  
  
“Dean,” Cas forced his voice to be calm and moved to pin Dean’s other shoulder to the stretcher and take his boyfriend’s hand, only to narrowly avoid a punch to the face.  
  
“Cas, I gotta see it,” he gasped. “Is it one piece?”  
  
“It is, Dean,” Anna said, carefully nudging Jake out of the way and moving the stretcher along. “You remember me?”  
  
“Don’t you dare cut it off,” he snapped, sweat making its way from his hairline. Cas moved to smooth his boyfriend’s brow and nearly got hit again.  
  
“I’m going to evaluate it personally. I’ll make sure we take every precaution possible to avoid an amputation.”  
  
Dean let out a dull moan as they neared the back of the Emergency Room, toward the Operating galleries. Cas wanted to say something reassuring, something warm and soothing, the way Dean always could. But out of the safe privacy of their bed, he felt dumb and lost.  
  
“Cas,” Anna said gently. “You need to let him go and step outside.”  
  
“What?” Cas started.  
  
“You can’t be in here. You know the rules. No operating on familial relations.”  
  
“But—” Cas’ voice died. He’d assumed she’d make an exception: let him stand by and monitor it all, monitor _Dean_. He couldn’t be expected to just sit without knowing, minute to minute, what was happening inside his partner’s body: not _now._  
  
Dean started and gripped Cas’ shirt. “Sam,” he gasped. “You got to call Sammy.”  
  
“He’ll be here. Don’t worry,” Cas managed.  
  
“You gotta—take care of him, Cas. Make sure he’s okay. Don’t let him relapse, or hurt himself. _Please_.”  
  
Cas squeezed his arm reassuringly, but it was an empty motion. Though he told himself it wasn’t personal, it still hurt to see the man he loved swept out of his sight. For a terrible moment, he flat out _hated_ Sam: he wanted to think about Dean, look after him and him alone, and not have to worry that Sam’s anxiety and addiction and all-around insanity would get in the way. He felt guilt flood immediately after, knowing it wasn’t all Sam’s fault he was shaky emotionally, and that Dean would be furious if he knew he blamed him.  
  
“I’ll go,” Bobby said, coming up behind him.  
  
“What?” Cas asked.  
  
“I’ll go. Get Sam. He shouldn’t get a phone call. I’ll stick him in the car and get him here.”  
  
“Fine.” He didn’t mean to be short, he told himself. He cared, he did. He was just...just... “Why are you here?” he realized.  
  
“The ‘dumbass hillbilly’ that ran him down? That was me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It was an accident,” Jake said quickly. “They didn’t see each other.”  
  
That, at least, accounted for why Bobby looked like—to use a Deanism— _hell_.  
  
“I’ll get Sam. Where’s he at right now?” Bobby repeated, and Cas recognized his attempt to escape. Cas glanced at the clock.  
  
“Work, most likely. If not, try Rosemount. Someone there will know.”  
  
Bobby lingered a moment, hands in his pockets. “You just...make sure he pulls through, alright?” he said awkwardly, before darting off down the hall. Jake shifted.  
  
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he said, with a somewhat false calm. “I mean...he was alert enough to call Bobby a redneck-dropout-sonofabitch. That’s pure Dean, if I know him at all.”  
  
Cas had to smile. “That’s Dean.” _My Dean._  
  
“Anyway...I’m sorry to do this to you, but there was only one high-schooler on the pumps, and Jay was on a break, and when he gets back and sees that mess—”  
  
“It’s alright, Jake. Dean would appreciate having his bases covered.”  
  
“I’ll swing by as soon as I’m free.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Jake drifted off, and Cas turned back to the waiting area: and felt a sudden slam of loss. He had no idea what to do now: Sam was being fetched, Anna had told him to steer clear, he couldn’t _imagine_ finishing his rounds, and all the magazines spread carefully out on the table before him featured celebrities he either didn’t know or didn’t _want_ to.  
  
He had nothing to do but wait.  
  
But Cas had never done waiting well.  
  
Sure, Dean would argue, say he’d done nothing but sit with him for hours, waiting for Sam to wake after the attempt to take his own life: waiting for test results at Rosemount: waiting for Dean to wake, hung over and grief-stricken: waiting for the lab to buzz his Blackberry. But all those things had tasks to be completed while he waited: patients to tend to, Dean to reassure, Sam to sooth. To just _sit_ , alone, and wait, while a couple of rooms away his partner was potentially losing a limb...  
  
Cas felt a sudden shortness of breath and began to pace. Sam would be here soon: before he realized it, even. Sam would be here, and he’d be pale and frightened and anxious, and Cas would sit and explain that everything was fine, that Dean was safe, and he would get them some water and pat Sam’s arm and the time would fly, because Cas would have a focus. He’d be as good a brother to Sam as Dean was, and that meant a lot of calm and patience and understanding and compassion, and Cas had to prep, had to practice those skills, rehearse his stoicism and warmth so when Sam arrived, he could be everything he’d need.  
  
Cas wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring dumbly over the waiting room, playing different scenarios in his mind and how he’d support Sam in each of them. All he knew was he was standing there, a pillar of calm one moment, and, in the next, heard the tell-tale ringing of “Cas?”  
  
Cas steeled himself and turned, what he told himself was calm and comfort painted on his face—his very best imitation of Dean.  
  
“Sam,” he said, and suddenly found himself wrapped in a tight, surprising hug.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Sam said gently. “I talked to Anna’s assistant—she said the surgery’s going great. Dean’s tough, you’ll see. He’ll bounce back.”  
  
“Of course,” Cas said, taken off guard. Afterall, he was a doctor who’d specialized in Emergency Medicine: he dealt with this type of injury all the time. Dean’s wound hadn’t been life-threatening, and that was all that mattered.  
  
But when he opened his mouth to explain this to Sam, he found Sam already there, guiding him to a chair, and filling it in for _him_.  
  
“You’ll see—he’s had worse. Fortunately his knee wasn’t crushed, and that’s the most important part of saving his leg. His vitals were strong, he was conscious and speaking clearly on arrival. You’ll see. Everything will be alright.”  
  
Sam smiled, and Cas just stared, feeling a sudden, gaping chasm of insecurity bellowing open under his feet. Without Sam to tend to...there was _nothing he could do_.  
  
His heart began to speed up, and he wondered if this is how Sam’s panics felt: lost and lonely and useless and delegated to a small, lonely corner of the world with empty platitudes drifting by and doing nothing to ease the ache of loss loss loss. 

***

  
The surgery, it turns out, was picture-perfect.  
  
It’s recovery that goes wrong.  
  
Dean’s not two hours in a regular room when his face starts flushing, and less than thirty minutes later there’s a green slime soaking through his stitches, and Anna is pumping his IV with antibodies and ordering ice packs for around his neck and armpits.  
  
Dean’s rolls, groans, burns with fever. The doctors—his colleagues—strap his arms down so he doesn’t pull himself free of traction. Cas sits dutifully by the bedside, but Sam—Sam leans over his brother, dabbing his forehead, talking softly, telling him everything is fine and not to worry. He stares at the monitors and demands that the nurses and doctors insure his brother isn’t in pain.  
  
Cas feels vague flickers of envy and annoyance. He and Dean were both somewhat withdrawn emotionally: it was one of the many reasons they worked well together. And one of the reasons they were good at handling the easily agitated and frequently anxious, over-emotional Sam.  
  
But here, with an ill Dean, Sam was all business. He watched over his brother’s machines, dabbed down his face, held his hand, rubbed his arm, talked to him softly, put the TV on stations he thought he’d like. His clear adoration and determination stirred a strange resentment in Cas, a feeling that this was his role the younger Winchester was stealing, but, even if it _was_ intended for him, somehow Sam was playing it infinitely better.  
  
He tries to rectify this. Two days after the surgery, while Dean seems to be resting peacefully, Sam goes for coffee, and Cas chances taking his partner’s hand in his own. His temperature is down, but still high, and Anna is still concerned that infection lurks in his blood, potentially threatening his kidneys , liver, and, most of all, the fragile hold of his damaged leg. Cas brushes a few strands of hair back behind Dean’s ear, and suddenly his boyfriend makes a low, pitiful mew of distress and begins to toss. Cas reaches down, places firm hands on his shoulders and pins him to the mattress, orders him to be calm. Dean writhes against him.  
  
“Dean, you have to be still,” Cas pleads. “It’s alright.”  
  
“Cas, don’t!”  
  
Cas leapt away as Sam raced by him, dropping his coffee as he goes, liquid spattering over the white tile as Dean bucks almost violently and tosses his head to the side.  
  
“Stand back!” the younger Winchester barked. He laid one hand on the mattress and leaned over his brother.  
  
“Hey, Dean—don’t worry, you did good. We’re out, we’re safe. They’re letting me stay the night. They fixed you up and no one’s the wiser. Jim’s on his way, he’ll cover for us. I’ll wait right here.”  
  
At the sound of Sam’s voice, Dean flinched less. His breathing eased, and he settled. Sam carefully picked up one of the cold cloths from beside the bed and continued.  
  
“Your temp’s up a bit, but it’s no big deal. I’m gonna put this on your head to help.” He dabbed at his brother’s forehead, then gently laid out the cloth. Dean frowned and grunted, and his eyelashes fluttered before his eyes slid open, slightly. Sam smiled. “Hey, don’t worry. You did good. We’re fine now. I can stay, no problem. We’re covered.” Dean’s eyes dropped closed once more, and a few minutes later he was sleeping peacefully. Cas felt a savage stab of jealousy, pushed it aside.  
  
“You shouldn’t touch him when he’s like that,” Sam explained, authoritative and calm. “He comes out fighting if you do.”  
  
“I was trying to reassure him,” Cas snapped.  
  
“Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t work. I learned that awhile back. He either comes out swinging or ready to swing because he thinks you’re trying to wake him up for a fight.”  
  
“What were you saying?”  
  
Sam’s face dropped abruptly into a version of Dean’s patent poker face. “Just...stuff I figured he’d remember. From when we were kids.”  
  
“I fail to see how that wouldn’t just add to his confusion.”  
  
“Look,” Sam said, eyes narrowing, “my brother’s been in the hospital twice in his life, and both times were because our Dad had put him there. And both times, he had CPS, insurance agents, and the cops to deal with. So just...back off. I know what I’m doing.”  
Cas’ jealousy gave way to grief. It brought an ache to his chest to think of his partner conditioned to respond to touch as a means of defense. And he felt another spike of resentment toward the younger Winchester, who’d he’d seen take Dean’s gentle ministrations as a given.  
  
“It’ll be fine, Cas,” Sam said, softening his tone. “I can stay here, if you need to—”  
  
“He called _me_ ,” Cas interrupted. “He asked me to be here. He needed _me_ in the Emergency Room.” He left out the part where Dean had nearly given him a black eye for trying to touch him.  
  
Sam’s face twisted into what Dean referred to as his “puppy-dog” look, the one that always made Dean cave. It just made Cas even more irritated. “I suppose he knew that I wouldn’t be at all anxious over myself, but would remain focused on his condition.”  
  
Sam’s look went from kicked puppy to kicked, locked-out-in-a-thunderstorm-puppy. Cas spun on his heel and stalked off into the hallway.  
  
“That,” a familiar accent quipped, “was the gayest thing you’ve ever done.”  
  
“Not now, Peter,” Cas muttered, stalking away from Balthazzar.  
  
“No, really. The sexual activities enjoyed by your lot are now so frequently enjoyed by heteroes they can hardly qualify as queer. But that, right there? That qualified you to give fashion advice and haircuts to the stars.”  
  
“What do you want?” Cas demanded.  
  
“Well, I _came_ down to make sure you boys had your knickers on straight, but after seeing that, I just may have to shower.”  
  
“I have work to do.”  
  
“Cas,” Peter grabbed him and spun him around. “Seriously. Calm down.”  
  
“You don’t know what it is to have a relationship. A _real_ relationship.”  
  
“But I know jealousy when I see it—even if it’s usually in the eyes of a man whose date just left him for yours truly.”  
  
“I’m not jealous.”  
  
“You’re an embarrassment, is what you are. You’ve known Dean how long—two, three years?”  
  
“Two years and five months.”  
  
“And Sam has known him for...” Cas glared. “Well, at _least_ twenty-six, I think. Can’t keep track. So wouldn’t it be _natural_ that he would know a few tricks regarding how his brother ticks?”  
  
“There are times when I would like to look after my partner without his brother’s interference.”  
  
“Sam came with the deal and you know it. You aren’t ever going to be number one, Cas. Dean’s always going to put Sam before anyone else, himself included. If he hadn’t been so devoted to family you wouldn’t have landed on your ass as hard as you did, because he’d be just like _your_ family.”  
  
Cas pretended to be searching for a file, but in reality, he was starting to feel ashamed. Not only was everything Balthazzar saying true, but it was embarrassing that he himself was so transparent—and that he’d taken out his jealousy on Sam, who was doing nothing but trying to care for his elder brother, and make Cas feel included by explaining the best way to do so.  
  
“Really. You just pitched a hissy-fit because Sam knew more about Dean in a severe state of physical and mental distress than you.”  
  
“I did no such thing.”  
  
“ _Cas_ ,” his friend sighed. “Listen. Just...take a few deep breaths, go grab some coffee, grab whatever it is that unfortunate sober-soul drinks, and go sit by your man. He’ll want you both there. And he’ll want _you_ there without whatever personal drama you’re currently involved in.”  
  
“Since when did you decide to step in? I thought you hated me. For needing to go home the weekend of your friend’s arrest.”  
  
“Oh. My. God. You, my friend, own the _fattest_ pair of ovaries I’ve _ever_ seen.” Cas flushed. “Listen...I know the impressions I give off, but I’m not _stupid_ , Cas. We run into you and Dean at a bar. Sam runs off like the devil’s after him, Dean’s ready to burn the city down, and a few days later, Fitzgerald McCloud ends up beaten in an alley, and it’s revealed he was a drug dealer who lured minors and the homeless into sexual encounters in exchange for drugs. And not twenty-four hours later, you’re on the East Coast. You really think I didn’t guess?”  
  
Cas felt his face burn and his heart pick up speed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Yes you do.” Balthazzar sighed. “And we _both_ wish we didn’t.”  
  
Cas felt his throat swelling. “Peter—”  
  
“Look, Cas—I’m no saint. I...well, I hated you for awhile. And your man. And then, blah blah blah, I did a lot of drinking and whoring and soul-searching and I came around to the fact that I have shitty taste in friends, and you are, most likely, the closest I’ll ever get to a true one with decency and integrity, so I’d love it if you’d just...never mention this little episode again and keep me on the e-chain for your future sober parties. Deal?”  
  
Cas nodded, and did the most embarrassing, fake-man-slap on his friend’s arm he’d ever done. “Deal,” he said, relieved when Peter laughed, and hit him back so hard it hurt.

***

  
Cas went down to the cafeteria and bought a bottle of red Gatorade and a fresh coffee for Sam; a large cup of espresso with milk for himself. He paused outside Dean’s room, seeing the anxious, but still determined, look on the younger Winchester’s face as he watched his brother, the monitors, and fidgeted with the blankets, adjusting and readjusting, trying to find some magic point where his brother would be perfectly comfortable. Cas swallowed, hard, when Sam ran his fingers over Dean’s arm, patting lightly, and then took his brother’s hand in both his own.  
  
He felt like the world’s biggest ass. Had Dean been awake, he’d have told him so.  
  
Cas stepped gingerly into the room, careful not to startle the younger Winchester. Sam looked at him and instantly lowered his gaze, pretending to adjust the sheet and rearrange Dean’s arm. Cas pulled a chair up beside Sam’s , set his own coffee at his feet, and held out the Gatorade and coffee to his friend.  
  
“Black. And Fruit Punch,” he managed. Sam looked at him warily. “I wasn’t sure which one you wanted.”  
  
“Thank you.” Sam accepted them both. He put the Gatorade at his feet and took a slow sip of the coffee, still avoiding Cas’ gaze.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured. “I...I was out of line.”  
  
Sam’s eyes were back on Dean. “I only know some of this stuff. It looks like his heart-rate is high because his blood pressure’s low. And his temperature’s abnormal.”  
  
“He lost a great deal of blood, but he’s received adequate transfusions. It will take a bit of time, and he will probably feel dehydrated, but he will rebuild them.”  
  
“And...his leg—”  
  
“Will take some time. And he’ll have to go through physical therapy. I’m sure that will be great fun for all of us.”  
  
Sam smiled at that and sipped the coffee once more. Cas sipped his own, and looked at the sterile, white tile.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I let my own insecurities get the better of me. I have to admit, I’m...unsettled.”  
  
“Christ, Cas, you’re allowed to be.”  
  
“But I...was prepared to be strong. For you. And when you were strong, it...I wasn’t sure...what to do. How I was needed.”  
  
“Cas...you don’t have to worry. I know I’m...” he turned back to Dean. “I know. I get it. I’m...Dean spends time on me he should spend on you. And, when things hit the both of you, you’re forced to consider ‘crazy Sammy.’ And that’s hard.”  
  
“No,” Cas pleaded. “No, it’s not that. It’s—I—you’ve met my brothers. I don’t fit in. I... _never_ fit _in._ ”  
  
Sam turned, face full of concern and softness. “Cas, you’re our _family_. I know it’s not— _I’m_ not the way Dean is with you. But I—you’re—“ his voice hitched. He reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder instead. Cas smiled and squeezed his friend’s hand. “I get it. You don’t have to be perfect for me, Cas. I can help you too.”  
  
“You do,” Cas sighed, touching Dean’s ankle through the blanket. “I am sorry. Everything will be fine. _Dean_ will be fine.”  
  
“I know. Cas—I did freak out. Completely. But I guess I’m just...used to Dean. Hurt. Sadly. I mean... _God_.” Sam’s voice wavered.  
  
“I understand why you and Dean couldn’t forgive your Father.”  
  
Sam slowly rubbed his elder brother’s fingers with this thumb, one after the other. “When we were kids,” he murmured, “we were so scared of CPS. They broke us up before, you know. We met this Priest, Jim—a Pastor, actually—and he really wanted the best for us. And he had a legal and moral obligation and all that, but he called in the state. And we were in these massive group homes, apart, for a couple weeks. Dean actually broke out—took off and made his way to me. I don’t even know how he knew where I was. But he got us home. And we lied. We told them we loved our Dad and he looked after us. And of course, our Dad lied too.” He smiled, ever-so-slightly. “There were times, you know, when Dad would stop. He’d swear up and down that he was sorry, that things would be different, that he’d never drink again, that he’d be there, that he loved us. Dean always fell for it, but I wouldn’t. If it weren’t for Missouri and my whole mess...I don’t think I’d ever have _gotten_ it.”  
  
He chanced a glance at Cas, who smiled warmly back. “I wish it had been easier for you both.”  
  
“I just saw that he loved drinking and yelling and hitting more than he loved us. But that wasn’t it. He was sad and lonely and scared out of his mind, trying to raise two kids on his own, and when he drank he felt strong and right and sure of himself. And things didn’t hurt as bad. I didn’t get it, but I get it now. How sometimes you’ll think you’ll _die_ if you don’t get it to hurt less.”  
  
“But you stopped,” Cas reminded him. “For Dean.”  
  
“I’d do anything for Dean,” Sam gushed. “And...for you too, Cas. I haven’t known many people willing to accept us. But you’re—I think of you as my brother. As my family. You can let me support you now and then. You don’t have to always be the strong one. If you needed me, I swear, I’d—”  
  
“It’s alright,” Cas soothed, reaching across the space between them to touch Sam’s shoulder. “There’s no need. We’ll look after Dean together, and he and I will look after you together, and, when the time comes, you and he can look after me.”  
  
Sam’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension. He looked at the floor, took another sip of his coffee, but Cas saw his hands shaking.  
“You know...” Sam said softly, “Me and Dean...we always had a few people we could go to. Jim the Priest, and later Bobby and Ellen, and a teacher here and there. But you...you were the first to not tell us we were all wrong and messed up. You just...took us as we were. And I...I’d never want to...break that, Cas. You don’t just mean a lot to Dean.”  
  
Cas officially knew he was the worst person alive. But somehow, when Sam looked at him warmly, he couldn’t bring himself to feel it.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam didn’t have his medication. He suggested skipping the valium so he could stay up and watch Dean, but Cas called Alan, got the proper doses, filled him in on Sam’s whereabouts, and hit the hospital pharmacy with a prescription. Sam glared when he returned with dinner, more Gatorade, and the pill bottle, but Cas pretended to ignore him and turned the television to a Monster Truck rally. Sam took a reluctant bite of his sandwich before grumbling “let’s watch CNN, Cas: that’ll wake him up faster,” and the doctor was only too happy to oblige.  
  
All in all, once Cas had managed to stop fretting about what best to do, he was surprised how fast the time went. Dean’s temperature dropped slowly but steadily, and his sleep seemed deeper and more at ease. He and Sam had settled into their comfortable familiarity: as much as they were bound together by Dean, it always surprised him just how much he had in common with Sam. They were both ‘geeks,’ as Dean loved to remind him: both loved history and kept up with current events; both liked old mythology; both spent a lot of time in their own heads, thinking and analyzing. He supposed it was what drew them both to Dean, and why Dean was such a good balance for them: he was the extrovert to their introvert. He was able to love and support them both while forcing them to enjoy what they had. He made them move forward, and he’d given them both the faith to realize that they could face what they had to as a team. As a family.  
  
He’d always felt he was home with Dean. But through the mess and the grief and the addiction and the recovery, he’d forgotten the easy, warm friendship he’d found with Sam. Back when Jess would have museum assignments, the four of them would often go through the galleries together before heading out for lunch or back to the house to watch a game. And for all of Jessica’s passion for art, she and Dean often moved along through the exhibit while Cas and Sam got stuck on piece after piece, trying to figure out how it was done and what thought went into it and how they’d do it differently. More often than not, Jess and Dean would be parked in the museum café, drinking coffee and chatting, before Sam and Cas realized that they hadn’t seen them in some time.  
  
It was wrong that he’d failed to nurture his own independent friendship with Sam, and wrong that he remembered it only when they feared for Dean. Sitting in there with his adopted brother, Cas vowed to do better by him. Dean would be in long therapy sessions, and Cas would schedule time for just the two of them, to ‘geek out,’ as Dean put it. It would do wonders for them both.  
  
Around ten, Cas muted the television, ordered Sam to take his valium, dimmed the lights, and tossed a blanket over his friend’s shoulders. Sam grumbled something Cas was fairly certain involved himself and a very unpleasant use of the remote control, but it didn’t take long before the younger Winchester was listing, eyelids drooping, arms sagging limply against the plastic hospital chair.  
  
Sam finally drifted off to sleep, but, before he did, he laid his head down, took Dean’s hand in his own, and rested his brother’s fingers directly beside his own head. It seemed strange, and Cas assumed it was so he could feel if Dean’s hands twitched, it would wake him.  
  
He spent the rest of the night watching Dean’s temperature make a slow, valiant climb back to normal. He spoke with the duty nurses, with Anna—who’d forsaken her precious few hours at home in order to make sure Dean was looked after—and briefly with Ellen, who explained that Bobby had stumbled in around midnight smashed drunk and was trying to open a beer bottle with his teeth, but as soon as he was sober they’d be by to help out.  
  
“You all have a right to your anger, Cas,” she said. “But try not to be too hard on him.”  
  
“It was an accident, Ellen. Sam and I understand that. Dean, I imagine, does too. He was just in pain. I can tell you from experience that people say all kinds of things when they’re in pain.”  
  
“I appreciate that, Cas. We—Bobby and I—we think of those boys as family. As...our own, in a way. Bobby’s first wife...she was sick so young...and I could never...and even in the best years of the business, adoption was never in our budget. And...Bobby—”  
  
“Ellen, I’m sure everything’s fine,” he soothed. “Sam and Dean rely very much on you both, and I don’t believe for a moment that Bobby would ever intentionally run down Dean. I’ve seen countless accidents between family and friends since I started working in medicine. My brother still tells the story of the time our brother Lou tried to ‘teach him to fly’ and they both broke limbs.”  
  
Ellen chuckled. “Listen...don’t worry about the bills. We’ll cover it.”  
  
“Don’t worry—Dean’s on my policy, though don’t tell him I told you.”  
  
“Alright.” Ellen sounded suddenly sad.  
  
“Hey, um...before you go...” Cas smiled to himself, glancing at the sleeping Sam and unconscious Dean, “I do have an idea.”  
  


***

  
It was early in the morning when Dean’s eyes fluttered open. Cas took Sam’s advice and hung back, letting Dean take in his surroundings. He untangled his fingers and immediately dropped his hand into Sam’s hair, smoothing over his brother’s scalp and resting lightly against his forehead. Seemingly satisfied Sam was well, he checked out his leg, hanging in traction, and then turned and saw Cas.  
  
“Hey,” he mumbled, voice cracking.  
  
“Would you like some ice-chips?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. Cas leaned over the bed, prepared to help him, but Dean snorted and took the cup himself, ignoring the spoon and sucking them in as If they were already melted.  
  
“God,” he mumbled, chomping away. “Feel like...drank a...tank of whiskey...and...decided to...fight.”  
  
“You’ve had a terrible fever. It’s under control now.”  
  
“My leg still there?”  
  
Cas couldn’t help but smile. “You remember what happened?”  
  
“I...remember that... _idiot..._ backing...up.”  
  
“Your leg’s going to be fine, but it’ll take awhile.”  
  
“Good,” he grumbled, hand scratching absently against his brother’s head. “You and Sammy...you okay?”  
  
“Of course we are. We’re not the ones who just underwent surgery.”  
  
“But _you’re_ the one looking like someone just backed over your leg. And Sammy,” he gave his brother a pat on the head, “doesn’t go to sleep if I’m in a hospital unless he’s been here a _damn_ long time.”  
  
Cas swallowed, hard. “You were alright for awhile after. But then you suffered from a very high fever.”  
  
“But you and Sam...you’re okay?”  
  
“Stop being a martyr, Dean,” he snapped. Dean frowned. “You just had a serious injury. You have no business worrying about Sam and I.”  
  
“Christ, Cas. I am... _way_ too out of it to deal with whatever drama you’re serving up.”  
  
Cas was about to argue when Sam stirred, sighed, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Mmm,” he grumbled, and then saw his brother and bolted upright. “Dean!”  
  
“Sammy.” Dean smiled.  
  
“Want some water? No, you can’t have water—ice? If you’re hungry, there’s Jello. No solids yet. Are you hurting? I can get a nurse. How long have you been awake? I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Are you cold? The hospital’s pumping in the air-conditioning. They saved your leg. Anna, who brought fruit at Superbowl, she pretty much did it herself. Are you okay?”  
  
“Whoa, Sammy. One at a time, huh?” Dean looked at his younger brother warmly. “How about that ice?”  
  
“Sure thing!” Sam darted out of the room. Dean looked pointedly at Cas.  
  
“He’s been fine, Dean. Very attentive. I made him take his meds and made sure he ate.”  
  
“Thanks.” Dean’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Cas. Just...hang tight. I’m not checking out on you yet.”  
  
Sam came rushing back, spoon in hand, and scooped a single cube onto it. Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed the cup, and dumped a dose into his mouth, just as he’d done for Cas.  
  
“So,” he crunched, “what the heck’s been going on?”  
  
Cas opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off. “Don’t worry,” the younger Winchester assured. “They saved your leg. It’ll take some time and rehab, but it’ll be pretty much as good as new. Jay’s covered everything at the garage, Bobby’s feeling like hell, and me and Cas have been right here the whole time.”  
  
“How long’s it been?” Dean asked, still chewing.  
  
“Little over two days. Don’t worry, it’s normal. They gave you the super-drugs. All courtesy of Anna. She and Cas have been all over it.” Sam smiled.  
  
“So it’s gonna work again?”  
  
“With time and therapy, it’ll be back to normal,” Cas assured. “Bobby...feels terrible.”  
  
“He should,” Dean huffed, without any real vitriol.  
  
“Truly. Ellen said he was in very bad shape.”  
  
“Oh for—it was an accident. I mean, I know I called him a few choice words, but it hurt like hell.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Sam assured, patting Dean’s arm. “They’ll be by now that you’re awake and your fever’s down.” His hand lingered a little too long before withdrawing: enough that Cas could see Sam’s fingers were shaking.  
  
“Why don’t I get us some breakfast and alert Anna that you’re awake?” he asked.  
  
“Can you get me some pie?”  
  
“Not for breakfast, Dean.”  
  
“Then get me something with bacon and sausage and a couple eggs on a biscuit or a muffin or something.”  
  
“Anna will have to approve your tray.”  
  
“I am _not_ eating Jello. I want beef. And cheese. And coffee.”  
  
“You know, Cas, it might be easier to just swing by the cardiology ward and bring back a heartattack,” Sam said with a sudden sparkle. Cas smiled as Dean whacked his brother lightly.  
  
“Smartass bitch.”  
  
“I’ll be back shortly,” he said, and made sure to shut the door so no one would overhear one of Dean’s closely guarded “chick-flick moments.”  
  
When he got back with their food Sam was standing, calm and respectful, hands resting on Dean’s bedrail while Anna made some notes on a chart.  
  
“You’re doing very well,” she said, “but because of the infection, I want to keep you two more days.”  
  
“No offense, Doc, but two days of hospital food and I’ll be at death’s door. I’ll be fine at home.”  
  
“You will. In two days.” She smiled. “And we have a cafeteria Cas can vouch for if you don’t like your tray. But I want you to try and take it easy. The catheter will come out later, assuming you respond well to fluids.” Dean turned beat red.  
  
“Can I at least get some friggin’ pants?”  
  
“Later.”  
  
“This is medieval!” he bellowed.  
  
“You don’t have anything I have seen several hundred thousand times. On the living and the dead.”  
  
She gave Cas a wink as she strode out of the room. Dean crossed his arms and smacked Sam’s hand aside when his brother reached out to pat him.  
  
“Food!” he barked, as Cas pulled out a breakfast sandwich.  
  
“Dean...you do realize, if you need to use the bathroom—”  
  
Dean let loose a stream of filth that seemed to surprise even Sam, who blushed and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter. Cas handed his own coffee and sipped his own, also slipping Sam his morning medication, which got him a thankful look from Dean.  
  
After breakfast, a couple nurse’s visits, and another brief check-in from Anna—who, Cas was beginning to realize, had to be operating on about two hours of sleep a night—Dean demanded control of the television, tuned it to ESPN, and fell dead asleep five minutes later.  
  
Cas took the opportunity to check his charts and make sure his current patients were being seen by other physicians. Sam took the opportunity to make his Rosemount calls and speak with Ava, his manager at the book store. When Cas drifted back Sam was rubbing absently at his brother’s arm, eyelids heavy once more. Cas was used to operating on little to no sleep for long stretches: Sam wasn’t. Especially since recovery, where his sleep schedule was rigid and defined.  
  
He was trying to think of some way of getting Sam to give himself a break—all while knowing full well Sam wouldn’t want to go anywhere—when Ash and Andy appeared like two reformed archangels.  
  
“Intervention, bro!” Ash called, causing Sam to jump and Dean to wake up glaring. “Sure you’ve been saintly, but there comes a time when a man needs a sleep and a shower as much as he needs to hear the Lord call him on to sobriety’s sober ship.”  
  
“Hi Dean, Cas,” Andy smiled. “Sorry to just drop in. We figured Sam should swing by the house, maybe get some sleep, and, if you wanted, we could stop by yours, pick up anything you needed.”  
  
“How’s the leg, bro? Hanging tight?” Ash asked, glancing at the cast. “Dude, no one’s signed it! Get me a pen. Or a marker or something. Cas, you get on that? Dude...are you wearing pants?” He lifted the blanket slightly. “Whoa! Okay, check that. First thing on the list.”  
  
“I better be dead and in hell,” Dean growled. “Because otherwise when I’m up and out of this bed and I’m going to beat you until you see Jesus.”  
  
“We’re just here for a sec. Grab Sam and go,” Andy said, smiling and clearly trying to reel in his over-enthusiastic friend.  
  
“I don’t need to go. I have my meds,” Sam ventured.  
  
“I can see grease in that magnificent mane from here, big man,” Ash grinned. “Sleep and a shower, brush those pearly whites? Grab a nap in your own bed? C’mon, we’ve been out of your hair for a few days now, but it’s time.”  
  
“I...I need to help Cas. Here. Dean just woke up.”  
  
“Think the good doc has it covered.”  
  
“Dean needs me. I _need_ to be here.”  
  
And, for the first time since Cas had first gotten that call, he saw it: Sam’s legendary anxiety. Of course he didn’t want to leave Dean’s side: he’d left Jess’ to go to the library, and Maddy’s so she could go to work, and their father’s so he could live a life free of pain and violence.  
  
None of their ends had been Sam’s fault. But that’s not how his cruel and punishing psyche translated their losses.  
  
“Sam,” he said gently, trying to will kindness and acceptance into his face and voice, “could I speak with you?”  
  
Sam glanced to Dean, who tossed him an affectionate wink, before following him into the hall. The younger man’s hands were clenching and unclenching, and the lost, hurt little puppy look was back on his face.  
  
“I have to stay, Cas—” he started, voice wavering. Cas touched his friend’s arm lightly.  
  
“I would very much like to go home and shower and possibly sleep for a bit,” Cas said. “So how about, you head home and take as much time as you need with them now, and, when you return, I’ll do the same?”  
  
Sam’s eyes were damp. “I—I have to stay. I have to—be here. Just—because.”  
  
“I would never lie to you,” Cas soothed. “Never. Especially not about anything as important as this. Dean is _fine_. Temperature, vitals, everything. And I’ll be here, the whole time, to alert the staff, and you, of any potential change.”  
  
“Please. I—in case—”  
  
“Sam...when you were very ill, I promised you that, no matter what, I would care for you. I know with...McCloud...I should have been better. But I promise you now, if ever anything should _truly_ happen to Dean, I would stay right here, and you would have me and your home and I would do all I could to provide for you in any way you need.”  
  
“I can’t—can’t go through this—not again, not—not with _him_.”  
  
“I trust you, Sam. Trust you to go home and rest and come back clean and sober. Do you think you can trust me to care for your brother in that time?”  
  
Sam’s demeanor shifted. He straightened up slightly, set his jaw, and managed to nod. Cas smiled. “You’ve been a tremendous support to me. Let me help you now. Get some rest, and a shower, and then come back when you’re able and I’ll do the same. I’ll alert you if there’s _any_ change, good or bad.”  
  
“Thanks,” Sam managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Cas.”  
  
“We’re going to be alright. We three,” he promised, squeezing his friend’s arm.   
  
Back in Dean’s room, Ash was actively drawing a “map of glory” on Dean’s cast while Dean threatened all sorts of bodily harm and Andy attempted interference, looking relieved when Cas and Sam ventured back in.  
  
“You get these two mooks out of here, Sammy,” Dean barked.  
  
“I will. I’m...gonna head out. For a bit. Will you...you’re okay? Need anything before I go?”  
  
“I need pants, a working leg, my own couch with my own TV, and a shitload of barbecue. Until then I’ll settle for not being molested by your evangelical-sober-hillbilly-house-leader.”  
  
“We’re all just livin’ on a prayer, bro,” Ash chirped. “Just livin’ on a prayer.”  
  
Sam hovered by Dean’s bed for a moment. “I’ll...I’ll be back. Today. Soon, really. And if you need me to come back sooner—”  
  
“Hey—you can’t get rid of me that easy,” Dean smiled, eyes soft and accepting in that warm, brotherly way he always seemed ready to bestow on Sam. “Go home. Get some real sleep. I’ll have plenty for you to do when you get back.”  
  
Sam nodded and let Andy usher him out, Ash heading behind them chatting a mile a minute.  
  
“I’m still not convinced Ash is off drugs,” Dean growled.  
  
“I believe he should star in a series of his own commercials discussing the side-effects of years of illegal substance abuse.”  
  
Dean chuckled. “Sammy’s doing good, Cas. Thanks.”  
  
“Are you in pain?”  
  
“Nah. Whatever your girl hooked me up to, it’s awesome.” Dean grinned at him. “You okay? You look tired.”  
  
“I haven’t slept yet, but don’t worry. Sam has been very supportive. I knew you’d be alright, although the infection had me worried.”  
  
“You’re allowed to wax-poetic about how empty your life would be without me. I’m pretty bodacious.”  
  
“It’s true. Men who can burp the U.S. capitols are difficult to find in the singles bars.”  
  
“Dude, it takes _years_ to build up the proper diaphragm and endurance to get ‘Jefferson City’ out in one breath.”  
  
“You’re horrible.”  
  
“Still love me?”  
  
Cas felt a light blush in his face and pretended to be fascinated by the IV. “I’ll tolerate you for some time,” he said, ignoring Dean’s somewhat dirty laugh.  
  
“Look what the mangy junk-yard dog came across, scooped up in its salivating jaws and deposited on our ward!” Balthazar chirped.  
“Did anyone tell you you’re a limey-redcoat-pain-in-the-ass?” Bobby barked.  
  
“Only my mother, when I was barely three. Don’t you recognize my exaggerated nature as a man desperate to find unconditional love?”  
  
“Bite me, asshat.”  
  
Ellen slipped around the two with a basket and a warm, maternal grin. “Alright boys, sword-fight’s over. Hi honey.” She plopped the basket down on Dean’s nightstand. “I hit the ‘net and whipped up anything I could think of that was hospital-friendly, only done right.”  
  
“And like I always say. You want to dump Grumpy Grandpa, I will have you in Vegas by midnight.” Dean grabbed the basket in its began digging through, grinning ear to ear. Bobby stood in the doorway still, hands in his pockets, looking as tough and grizzly as ever, but Cas could see the bags under his eyes and the slight slump in his shoulders, and knew it was more than the hangover.  
  
“Bobby, it’s good to see you,” he said.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, eyeing Dean wearily.  
  
“You gonna stand on ceremony? Or you gonna come in and get on your knees and beg my forgiveness?” Dean teased. Bobby flinched slightly, and Ellen glanced at her husband before turning back to Dean.  
  
“You in pain, sweetie?”  
  
“Nah, hooked up to the great stuff. Doc Dread here says I’m good to go. Pays to have friends in high places.”  
  
“Anything you need, you let us know. Don’t worry about co-pays, out-of-network-bills, physical therapy—you name it, we’re covering it.”  
  
“Didn’t you hear I married rich?” he said, with a wink at Cas. “Ellen, it’s fine. It hurt like a bitch, but it doesn’t now.”  
  
“Bobby got you something. Didn’t you?”  
  
Bobby huffed and stomped his way to the edge of the bed, then pulled a stuffed lion from behind his back.  
  
“His name’s Thromdor,” he muttered, tossing it at Dean.  
  
“No _shit_. This thing would _devour_ Sam’s damn monkey. I always knew I was your favorite,” Dean sat the lion on top of the basket and went back to rooting. “Ellen, you made me hot-pies!”  
  
“Is that a Yankee food I’ve yet to sample?” Peter asked.  
  
“It’s her own take on a hot-pocket, but with pie. And, other than the lives of Sammy and Cas and my baby, they’re the only things on Earth I’d go to war to save.”  
  
“One minute on high—”  
  
“Two on medium, Ellen—I know how to cook a hot-pie.”  
  
“Figured the good doctor could get you a microwave.”  
  
Bobby was carefully eyeing the traction. “So...leg gonna hold ya?”  
  
“Take some time. But everyone swears I’ll be up and running this time next year.” Dean offered one of his smaller, warmer smiles. Bobby continued to shove his fists around and pretend to be interested in the framed, generic flower prints on the walls.  
  
“Ellen,” Cas said, “I was thinking of getting coffee for myself and some juice for Dean. Would you like to come?”  
  
“Sure thing. I know how Bobby takes his, and I don’t trust him to milk-up mine.”  
  
Bobby mumbled something Cas assumed was dirty, only because Ellen punched him in the arm hard enough for him to grunt a “ow!” as they made for the hall. Peter remained standing. Cas grabbed him by the labcoat and hauled him out of the door, ensuring it slammed behind them.  
  
“I’ve been waiting for the two-alpha-males-to-make-up-scene for days now!” Peter whined.  
  
“You have rounds,” Cas scolded.  
  
“Round and round and round and round the bloody ward goes round,” Balthazar grumbled and stalked away.  
  
“Thank you, Cas,” Ellen said.  
  
“He’ll be home in two days.”  
  
“I mean...thank you for being so understanding about this. Bobby’s been real torn up.”  
  
“Accidents happen, unfortunately. The important thing is he’s going to be fine, and I know he bears Bobby no ill-will.” Cas walked her down to the elevators and hit the call button. “You two have been like parents to Sam and Dean. I know they love you both very, very much.”  
  
Ellen grinned. “You’re too good for him.”  
  
“So I’ve been told,” he chuckled, and ushered her inside the waiting car.  


***

  
Dean was released two days later without incident. Anna armed them with pain pills and antibiotics and told him to call her if his temperature spiked. Cas arranged for a very, very large flower arrangement to be delivered to her at home, and walked dutifully alongside him while Bobby wheeled Dean, his basket, and his stuffed lion out the door and loaded him into the back of his van.  
  
“Ridin’ in style,” he joked, sprawling out and digging into Ellen’s basket.  
  
“Idjit,” Bobby mumbled, and Dean winked at him in the mirror. Whatever had passed between them, Bobby certainly looked far less grim, and Dean seemed to enjoy the new-found attention. “Where’s your Sasquatch-size kid brother at?”  
  
“Therapy. Missouri said, and I quote, that if she didn’t see his ass in her office today she was going to kick him back a good twelve steps.”  
  
“Therapists allowed to talk like that?”  
  
“She’s not a therapist. She’s a drill Sergeant.”  
  
“Sam likes her a great deal,” Cas interjected.  
  
“Yeah, because she yells at me. Every time.”  
  
“Gotta say...kid’s been ace. Least since I’ve seen him,” Bobby glanced at Cas.  
  
“He’s been fine. Very composed,” Cas agreed. Dean huffed, annoyed.  
  
“Don’t act so surprised. He was sick. Now he’s better.”  
  
“Just saying,” Bobby grumbled. “When I went and picked him up, I was braced for an F-5 meltdown, and he got himself together like I’d told him we were going to a matinee.”  
  
“Sammy’s always come through for me,” Dean said in that slow, no-nonsense tone that they knew meant the conversation was over.  


***

  
Sam temporarily moved back home with them their guestroom: a move which Cas was eternally grateful for. No sooner was Dean propped up on the couch that it became his throne, and he ruled over the downstairs with a series of endlessly unnecessary demands.  
  
“Why don’t we have Showtime? Did anyone get the mail? How am I gonna shower? Cas, when do I get a pill? Did Jay bring my car back? Someone get me a hot-pie! Cas, can we order HBO? Someone check my e-mail! Sam, where did you put my phone? Why haven’t we gotten barbecue this week!”  
  
Cas had narrowed his answers down to “yes Dean” or “no Dean” and ignored whatever the long (and loud) response was.  
  
Sam was different: he waited on his brother hand and foot. He made anything Dean wanted for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. He watched whatever was on Cable. He laughed at every one of Dean’s jokes. He brought him water, pills, helped him to the bathroom, wrapped his cast in plastic so he could shower, pulled the covers up and over his chest before curling into his sleeping bag on the floor beside him. He was so very calm, together, and _Dean_ -like, that Cas couldn’t even remember the former behaviors of addicted, weak, anxious, depressed, _Sammy_.  
  
But Dean made no notice that anything had changed. When Sam bustled about, he merely thanked him, took what he offered, and let Sam rest wherever he chose, often reaching out to scratch his head like he was a puppy or kitten. And when Dean did go on a tear, he rolled his eyes at Cas and good-naturedly told his brother to shutup. Cas had long liked to think that years of working with people in pain or severe distress had turned him into someone with almost God-like patience, but if Sam weren’t there, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have gone Old Testament on his partner.   
  
Cas did what he always did: went to work, came home, paid bills, did his best to be there for the two of them. It was only when he was alone and settled upstairs in the bed he and Dean shared that he took the moment to introspect how the long-habitual jealousy of Sam had left him completely. His checkbook might have eased the Winchesters’ burdens, but he finally understood that his presence meant more than that: and, though his relationship was Dean was still the most precious in his life, and always would be, he couldn’t help but feel a special pride that he’d done so well by Sam.  
  
Dean would have called him every name in the book if he’d known, but Cas finally felt a previously unrealized sense of security. He hadn’t dared imagined a life without Dean, other than to sooth Sam’s panicked delusions, but, not that he had, he felt a larger purpose: whether it was soothing Sam’s terror or allowing the younger Winchester to support him, together, they could somehow survive the horror of the loss of Dean. And, while that loss was still a horrific scenario Cas couldn’t bear to envision, the surety of Sam at his side soothed him.  
  
A week after that phone call, Cas had showered and was on his way downstairs to say goodnight to the brothers when he heard Dean say "Go to bed, bro. When's the last time you crashed?"  
  
"I'm okay," Sam said, his voice tired and shaky. Cas hesitated, heard the sound of shuffling, meaning Dean was hoisting his leg around.  
  
"Hey," he heard him murmur. "You want Cas to give you something?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Nerves bad?" No answer. "Wanna use?" Sam made a small, futile noise that nearly broke Cas' heart. "Hey," Dean's voice dropped to butter-soft, "c'mon, c'mere. It's okay."  
  
"When he said—" Sam's voice hitched. "I thought—"  
  
"I know. But I'm fine, see? These things happen sometimes."  
  
"It's too much—like before. Like—Dad and—" a soft sob drifts up out of the dark. "I just...when I thought...I just...stopped. I couldn't—if it had, I wouldn't—I'd have made sure I _didn't_ —"  
  
"You know what you'd do? You'd go to Cas, and you'd look after him and let him look after you. And you'd go to therapy and go to group and take your valium and keep at your job. Because I wouldn't accept anything less."  
  
"I can't," Sam sobbed. "I—I can't, Dean, I can't do it. I only ever feel okay when I'm here with you two, and even then I—get—"  
  
"Relax," Dean's voice is firmer. "C'mon. You're exhausted. Your body will sleep if you let it."  
  
"Dean—"  
  
"I get it, bro, I do. I hear you. But I'm telling you, you quit sleeping, you get depressed. We've seen it before." Cas chanced a few tentative steps forward and is able to see Sam curled at the foot of the sofabed, hovering close to his brother's leg. Dean reached down and gently stroked his hair. "I'm alright, Sammy. Everything's alright. Just close your eyes."  
  
"You—you could have bled out. And I wouldn't have been there." Sam's voice cracked. He pressed his forehead into Dean's good leg. "I want to _be_ there, just once, Dean. To—help. To say goodbye."  
  
"Sammy. What could you say that I don't know? Huh?" he smiled. "You think Jess and Madison didn't know? Even _Dad_?"  
  
Sam's breath hitched. "Dean—"  
  
"I _know_ , bro." He prodded him up until Sam's forehead lay against his ribs, cupped the back of his neck. "They did too."  
  
"I want to help—"  
  
"You _do_ , dumbass," Dean scrubbed his brother's head. "Not all kid brothers would wait on me hand and foot. Or drop everything and rush to the ER because their idiot big brother had to get a few stitches."  
  
"More than a few."  
  
"Sammy," Dean soothed, "this is what you do. You take care of people. You took care of me after Dad, over and over. You're taking care of me now. Whatever you're feeling, let it go. Just let in what you're good at. Alright?" He raised his voice. “Same goes for you, Cas, you creepy stalker.”  
  
Cas felt heat fill his cheeks and ventured down the stairs. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”  
  
“No, just hover and eavesdrop.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well?”  
  
“Well...goodnight. Unless I can get you or Sam something.”  
  
“Dude...shutup and get in here. One big screwed up family.”  
  
Dean’s eyes glittered, as warm and bright as ever. Sam’s, still damp, seemed to do exactly the same. And when Cas slid onto the mattress beside them and completed their little “litter of awesome,” as Dean put it, he liked to think when they looked at him, they saw just as much love shining back.


End file.
